


i say “you” cause you feel like home

by NoGood_InGoodbye



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff, Pitch Perfect Fandom Drive, Slow Burn, i think???, jesse doesn't exist here 🤷♀️, ppfandomdrive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24857638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoGood_InGoodbye/pseuds/NoGood_InGoodbye
Summary: "She imagined that if the feeling of home ever felt like a person, it would feel a lot like Chloe Beale."Or: It's fluff, there's almost no angst (or thereisno angst??), and Beca's on a journey to find a place to call home.
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 12
Kudos: 111
Collections: Pitch Perfect Fandom Drive





	i say “you” cause you feel like home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [microwavedicecream](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=microwavedicecream).



> Special thanks to microwavedicecream and your support! This is for the [@ppfandomdrive](https://ppfandomdrive.tumblr.com/) and the prompt was bechloe + friends to lovers (fluff + slowburn) 💗 hope this was slowburn enough??? title from bea miller & jessie reyez’ song [Feels Like Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CekbqdmY1dM)

Beca had lived a majority of her preteen and teen years jumping back and forth between her mother’s apartment and her father’s little bungalow. Though she preferred holing up in her mother’s barely-bigger-than-a-shoebox-sized spare bedroom, she couldn’t really find it in herself to call the place hers. Like she could never get her heart to call it home.

Home felt like such a funny word to her. She could barely remember the excitement and warmth she’d felt at hearing she was finally going home after a torturous day at school. The buzz in her feet as she’d bounce around the sidewalk just waiting for her mom to pick her up. The face splitting grin on her lips as she’d throw the creaky wooden door open to yell an enthusiastic “ _I’m home!_ ” to her dad who’d be walking out of his study at the banging door.

Home used to be bear hugs after school and essays read out loud during dinner. Home used to be picking the movie for the night as her mom made popcorn and her dad prepared the drinks. Home used to be washing the dishes with her dad as her mom cleaned the living room. Home used to be warm and comforting and safe.

Beca used to have a home.

That’s the reason why getting a dorm in Barden, instead of taking her dad’s offer to stay with him, was probably the closest thing to home she’s ever had in a long while. It was small and she’s pretty sure Kimmy Jin was planning to kill her one day or another, but it was hers.

* * *

She hated her dad encroaching on her space, constantly showing up at her dorm and forcing himself back into her life after years of being _gone_. She hated the sick, sinking twist in her stomach at having the one place she could call hers tainted with the recurring presence of the man in her nightmares.

Sometimes—sometimes Beca just _hated_.

“Beca?” The brunette tried not to jump at the unexpected voice, body tensing to keep her in place before steely blues rose to find worried warm eyes. “You okay?”

Shaking away her thoughts, Beca nodded as she cleared her throat and moved to make room for the redhead. “Yeah, just tired.”

“Aubrey _did_ warn you guys about maintaining your own cardios.” Chloe’s smile was cheeky but sweet as the senior slid into the spot next to her.

Out of all the Barden Bellas, Chloe was definitely the sweetest (which still shocked Beca every now and then, considering the redhead was best friends with the aca-dictator). Despite their weird as hell first meeting, Chloe had quickly shown that she wasn’t as crazy as Beca first thought she was (as if the crazy she’d witnessed was only reserved for special moments with Beca) and that the redhead could actually be an incredibly calming presence in the middle of Typhoon Aubrey.

Chloe never apologized for barging into Beca’s shower that day, saying that if she’d never done it, then the Bellas would be missing out on her amazing voice. She _did_ apologize for making her uncomfortable, though, so Beca couldn’t really stay _that_ wary of the redhead, especially when the senior had bounded into her life with bright smiles and sunny promises. It was hard to complain about her… _acquaintanceship_ with the older Bella. It had taken a little getting used to and some patience and reluctant acceptance on Beca’s part, physically and mentally having to bite down her usual snark and cynical sarcasm, but eventually the DJ had stopped shying away from the redhead and even started taking more mental notes during their conversations.

When the redhead wasn’t bouncing with energy, she was a warm, steady calm in the middle of Aubrey’s bone grinding rehearsals. She always made a point to check in with all the girls in between breaks. She was the one who organized Bella hangouts at least once a week (where rehearsals and acapella talk was _banned_ for the entire activity). She kept up with everyone’s schedules, not only getting rehearsals to fit their free time, but making sure rehearsals didn’t coincide with any of their tougher subjects or exams. She held study groups whenever one of the Bellas would complain about a class.

Chloe was nice, and Beca wasn’t all that against being around the redhead from time to time, but she still wasn’t comfortable enough around the senior (or with anyone, really) to talk about her _feelings_. Still, just having the redhead near her helped ease the tension in the brunette’s shoulders and chase away her lingering thoughts.

Chloe’s gentle nudge brought her back to the present. “Coffee and talk?”

Beca’s answering pout brought a bark of laughter out of the redhead, Chloe’s nose wrinkling slightly at the brunette’s childish reply before amending. “Fine, just coffee.”

“Sure.” Beca shrugged, as if she was ever going to say no (her dorm room still felt tainted and she’d skipped lunch in her rush to escape her dad, so really, she was never going to say no, whatever the offer). Chloe beamed in reply before bouncing to her feet, offering Beca a hand that left a sweaty warmth in her pale palm (Beca didn’t mind the dampness—it felt kind of nice to know the redhead wasn’t as picture perfect as she seemed).

Chloe made things easy. Chloe made things nice. Chloe made things comfortable.

(Like maybe it was okay that Beca didn’t have a home if it meant she could sit in chipped wooden seats near the back of a decades-old café that somehow had light streaming in at just the right angle during lazy afternoons that lit Chloe’s hair into a perfect, fiery halo).

* * *

“Thanks for checking on her, Jessica—er, Ashley. Yeah, I got someone to cover for me at the station, so I’ll be home early.”

Beca didn’t know when she’d started calling the Bella House her _home_.

Maybe it was after the second week of moving in when Stacie had burst into their room, grabbed her headphones right off her neck, and sprinted out the room shouting that if she wanted it back then she’d have to join them for movie night. Or _maybe_ it was after a month of living in a house full of college women who had no sense of shame or personal boundaries. Or maybe it was that very first day, when she’d stepped into the house with a boxful of records and CDs and some stray pictures stuffed in between the cracks.

Chloe was carrying the other box from her dorm up the stairs as she sung some pop song under her breath with a grin. The house was littered with boxes and suitcases and a growing pile of pictures every Bella seemed to have contributed to stacked on the kitchen counter for future framing and hanging. Shuffling and laughter echoed across the halls as rooms were set up and furniture was rearranged.

Their sleeping set up had been organized the week before, an online generator deciding everyone’s fate (aside from Chloe’s, who’d been given the single room out of seniority and a touch of pity). Beca was rooming with Stacie for that first year and Chloe had been the first to offer her help in getting her co-captain set up.

Beca had long since given up on trying to dissuade the redhead from going out of her way for her—so she’d accepted the help and thought it’d be just like moving in her freshman year.

Only it wasn’t.

There was a certain _warmth_ that came with moving in with the Bellas. From Cynthia-Rose yelling down the hall for a missing record, to a good half of the Bellas getting shocked by Stacie’s piles of engineering books, to Jessica and Ashley’s things getting mixed together, to Fat Amy saying she was moral support, to no one knowing where the fuck Lilly was pulling out her own things, all the way to Chloe singing happily through the mess of clothes and scattered items.

It was a warmth that woke her up at five in the morning because Cynthia-Rose woke up to Lilly sleeping upside down from the rafters. A warmth that brought her burnt peanut butter and jelly sandwiches whenever she was in the middle of one of her mixing sprees. A warmth that meant watching horrible reality TV as nine other girls shouted at The Bachelor to “ _pick her goddamnit_!”

A warmth that felt something like _home_.

So, Beca was on her way home earlier than usual because Stacie had texted her that Chloe was “dying” and she refused to let her “fading condition” ruin anyone else’s evening (Beca wasn’t sure if Stacie was exaggerating or quoting the redhead). Beca didn’t get any details after that, Stacie texting a quick ‘ _gtg now tho_ ’ before ignoring all four messages Beca sent in reply.

So she knows Chloe’s not feeling well, but she wasn’t sure what kind or level of sick the redhead was. It’s the reason she asked one of her coworkers to cover her shift at the station before stopping by the closest convenience store to buy some of Chloe’s favorite things (because even if she loved manning the booth, she cared about Chloe more).

With three bursting plastic bags in hand, Beca made her way home to a somberly quiet house. Normally, the house was filled with voices and laughter and music and someone breaking something or the other. Today, Beca’s sneakers squeaked softly along the wooden floor as she dropped off her shopping in the kitchen.

She sorted through the bags to find some medicine and filled up a glass with water before padding her way up to Chloe’s room.

Shadows stretched across the room, the only light coming from the lamp on Chloe’s side table. The tiny source of light was accompanied by an empty bubble pack of pain meds and a half-finished glass of water. Chloe was curled into a ball, pillow sandwiched between her stomach and legs as she groaned at the creek of her door opening.

Beca frowned sympathetically at the redhead, recognizing what was bothering her immediately. “Hey, Chlo. How you holding up?”

Chloe moaned in agony, her reply a grumble of pain as she curled tighter around her pillow. Placing the things she’d brought on the side table, Beca sat at the edge of the bed as she watched the redhead roll around to face her.

There weren’t many things that could keep Chloe down (Beca still remembers the weekend Chloe was running a high fever while managing to clean up the entire Bella house, clear out the haunted basement (she said she was already sick, what else could hurt her?), and run a load of laundry before Beca returned from her radio shift and forced her back into bed).

She knew that the redhead’s stubbornness could match her own (it could sometimes even _beat_ her stubbornness if Chloe was feeling petty enough).

There were very few things that could stop the redhead from going about her day and Beca learned early on in their friendship that at the top of that very short list, was Chloe’s period cramps.

“Hi.” Thin pink lips curled into a grimace as Chloe looked up at her.

“Hey.” Beca’s voice was soft, steely blues finding warm blue eyes pinched in discomfort. “I wasn’t sure what was up ‘cause the girls were being vague, but I have some pain meds that should help.”

Chloe’s smile turned genuine, if a little tempered by the pain. “My hero.”

Beca’s stomach fluttered as she smiled softly, pale fingers brushing away red strands before she turned to grab the water and meds.

There was a secret spot in Beca’s heart for moments like these. Moments when she felt wanted and appreciated for doing nothing more than raiding their corner convenience store and handing over a glass of water and pack of medicine.

It wasn’t often that the DJ got to take care of anyone (the most she’s ever taken care of anyone was all the years she took care of herself), but Chloe had always believed in her with an unfathomable kind of faith. Even after Beca had walked out on them in her first year, it was Chloe who’d texted her and said that they _needed_ her. Said that the Bellas weren’t the same without her. Said that she made her better.

Chloe always made Beca feel needed. Wanted. Important.

Beca took back the empty glass and medicine, placing it on her side table as Chloe curled back into her pillows and shuffled back, patting the space she left free with a tired smile.

Never one to deny Chloe anything, Beca kicked off her shoes and stretched out next to the redhead, arm cushioning her head as she watched warm blue eyes flutter closed. Her free hand itched to brush away the stray hair falling around Chloe’s face, pale fingers clenching into a fist as she fought back the urge (she’d been doing that a lot lately. _Feeling_ things around Chloe).

Instead, Beca watched the tension slowly leave rosy cheeks. Watched as Chloe’s grip on her pillow eased into a comfortable hold. Listened as quiet grumbling turned into content sighs. Thin pink lips twitched into a smile, Chloe’s eyes still closed as she whispered, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Beca whispered back, afraid to disturb the stillness in the room.

Chloe smiled in reply, bright and full of affection as ocean blues fluttered open. “Have I ever told you you’re my favorite?”

“Not in front of the other girls, no.”

Chloe puffed out a laugh, head shaking on her pillow before she scooted forward, warm toes meeting Beca’s cold shins. “I can’t show bias, Bec.”

“Is it bias if we’re co-captains?” Her pale fingers unclenching under the warmth of Chloe’s hand resting over hers.

“Then I’ll tell them you’re my favorite co-captain tomorrow.”

“That’s a cop-out.”

“Still true, though.”

Beca couldn’t hide her smile if she tried, her chuckle full of too much affection for something as small as a compliment.

It’s been happening more and more, though. The fluttery feeling in her stomach would come and go every time she spent a moment with the redhead. She’d grown used to the steady thumping in her heart and the buzzing in her head every time she was around Chloe.

Beca’s been trying to place a name for the feeling for months now. It was comforting and warm and a little like something more. Beca felt a little lost about it, but she figured she had time to figure it out.

That was almost four months ago.

Still, it wasn’t like the feeling was unpleasant. Just, _different_.

(Different like Beca’s heart felt three sizes bigger. Different like Beca didn’t hate the feeling. Different like Beca wanted more.)

She imagined that if the feeling of home ever felt like a person, it would feel a lot like Chloe Beale.

* * *

It takes Beca more than seven months to name the feeling.

That funny feeling in her stomach fighting against the steady contentment in her heart. The one that made her feel happy for no logical reason. That feeling that felt like _home_.

It was a word even stranger to Beca than ‘home’.

It was love.

It’s not that Beca’ never known love. She just figured that she’d never really learn how to feel it _right_. Because she knew ( _oh_ did she _know_ ) that there was a right and wrong way to love.

Realizing that the warm, fluttery feeling in her bones was love was _terrifying_.

Beca knew plenty about love, but she didn’t know much about love done right.

(She imagined it wasn’t the walls shaking from doors slamming closed. Imagined it wasn’t yelling at two in the morning. Imagined it wasn’t leaving when the going got tough.

But that was all the love Beca had known for a very, very long time.)

She knew she didn’t have to do anything about it, but just the simple _feeling_ of being in love had left the brunette reeling.

What if Beca made everything weird because of her feelings and Chloe left because of it? What if Chloe figured out she has feelings for her and leaves? What if Chloe figured out she has feelings for her and _hates her_? Or, _god_ , what if Chloe figured out Beca has feelings for her and tries to be the understanding friend but things get super weird for them and then their friendship falls slowly and painfully apart?

The thought made Beca feel hollow.

She’d just found a place that felt like home. Was she really going to lose the person that made it feel like one?

“Bec.” Pale knees slammed into the desk above them, Beca cursing as she looked up to find apologetic ocean blues.

“Sorry! I’m _so_ sorry! I thought you’d heard me come in.”

Beca grimaced, rubbing at the red spots above her knees as she turned to face the redhead. “It’s alright, just surprised me ‘s all. What’s up?”

Chloe took a seat on the edge of Beca’s bed, legs crossing as she shifted to get comfortable. Once Chloe was settled, she shrugged as she shot the brunette a grin that made _that feeling_ bubble up in Beca’s stomach again. “Nothing much. You know the girls went out to party, but I wasn’t feeling it tonight. I was wondering if you wanted to watch some Netflix with me? I know you’re mixing and everything but—” Chloe shrugged again. “Join me?”

(As if Beca was ever going to say no.)

So the DJ saved her mix and followed the redhead to her room, her eyes quickly landing on a pile of snacks and blankets spread around the redhead’s bed.

And that’s when she knew she was done for.

It was terrifying, being in love, but what else could she call the feeling spreading around her heart? What other word could describe the smile that curled her lips at the sight of Chloe Beale in her pajamas jumping onto her bed and burrowing into a pile of blankets? What other feeling made her feel as warm and alive as Chloe did while sharing a bag of Lays in the dimness of the redhead’s room?

What other word could explain the feeling that wrapped Beca up and made her feel comfortable and alive every time she so much as _thought_ of the supersenior? What other word could explain that feeling of _home_ wrapped up in a single person?

It was _love_.

And there, trapped under a cuddly redhead and the warmth of home, Beca thinks that it isn’t such a scary word after all.

* * *

Sometimes Beca cringed at calling their scattered little shoebox of an apartment her home. It was always messy in one way or another, no matter how many times she or Chloe made an effort to clean it. Their kitchen could be crossed with two Beca-sized steps, their living room was non-existent because it had become Beca and Chloe’s room, their bathroom definitely had mold growing in the ceiling (she hoped to _god_ it was just mold), and she’s pretty sure Amy has turned the rat in her room into a roommate.

It wasn’t the kind of home Beca thought she’d find after graduating college.

But Beca loved it.

Beca _liked_ her cringey, cluttered, hovel of a home.

Its size meant that Beca never felt alone, always only a couple feet away from someone willing to offer strong hugs and terrible puns. It meant that she got at least two entire days with her favorite redhead to clean the place as best as they could and then maybe binge watch a season or two of whatever they were catching on Netflix after they’d get too tired to scrub at anything else.

It meant Chinese on Tuesdays and Indian on Thursdays and leftovers on Saturday mornings. It meant forgetting that Amy lived with them most days until the blonde would barge in one night and see them cuddled up on their bed watching a show before she’d mutter “ _I thought I got the timing right_ ” too loudly for it to be considered muttering.

It meant having someone to rant to whenever she got stuck babysitting another trust-fund-baby artist wannabe who didn’t even care about Beca’s opinion as their producer. It meant massaging away the stress in tan shoulders as Chloe complained about the animal owners who didn’t actually care for their pets.

It meant coming home to singing in the kitchen and a gentle smile ready to greet her. It meant a swoop in her stomach and warmth in her chest every time she woke up to a strong grip around her waist and red hair in her face.

It meant it was home.

No matter how shitty and small it was.

(She was learning that maybe home didn’t have to only be a place after all.)

* * *

It was a Tuesday night when it slipped.

Her body realized what she’d said before her brain did.

It took a good, solid minute for her brain to catch up, her body already frozen and eyes only widening at the realization of the words that left her mouth.

She thinks that if there’s any moment for her to tell Chloe she loves her; she picked a really boring one.

“Aw, Bec! I love you, too.” Chloe’s smile is bright, her nudge playful before she turned back to the dumplings spread out over their bed.

Beca could leave it at that, let the pounding in her heart and the twisting in her stomach fade away on its own. It isn’t the first time Beca’s ever imagined how Chloe would react to the words, but it was the first time she ever had to deal with it actually happening.

Chloe’s reaction was probably the best-case scenario from Beca’s many, _many_ imagined outcomes.

Still, the knots in her stomach were a different kind of unsettling and Beca’s heart couldn’t decide if she wanted to leave it at that or just throw everything on the line.

Noticing Beca’s quiet discomfort, Chloe watched with a crinkle between her brows as the brunette shakily picked at her food. Ocean blues flitted over her pale face before they widened, a soft “ _oh_ ” escaping pink lips before Chloe turned to Beca completely (because of course Chloe could read Beca like an open book).

Quietly, cautiously, Chloe asked, “Was— _Is_ … Is that not what you meant?”

Beca held her breath, the thrumming in her heart and blood rushing to her ears the only sounds she could hear. Slowly, Beca turned to face the redhead and found ocean eyes swimming with worry, confusion, and _hope_.

With a shaky breath, Beca said, “No.”

And warm blue eyes widened and Beca’s heart was going to beat itself out of her chest and Beca could do nothing more but spill her heart out on to their bedsheet.

“I-I mean yes! I mean, _yes_ , I love you. You’re my best friend. But also, I _love_ you. I’m in love with you. And I…”

Warm hands cradled pale ones, Chloe’s grip loose but grounding as Beca breathed in deep and finally, finally looked up to meet warm blue eyes. “I love that you’re my best friend. I love that you make me feel wanted and cared for. I love that you make me watch that shitty home makeover show even if most of the designs are incredibly overrated. I love that you kind of hold your breath when you show me a meme and only start laughing again when I laugh, too.

“I love that you hate pickles in your burgers. I love that you think every single song I make is perfection even if I’m only halfway through editing. I love that you’re always singing—constantly. As in, all the time.” Chloe’s laugh was wet, her smile shaky as Beca’s thumb moved to wipe away the stray tears. “I love that you make me feel safe and warm. I love that you feel like home.”

Chloe nuzzled into her hand, Beca’s own voice shaky as she whispered, “I love you as my best friend, and I love you as more. _So much more_. I’m in love with you, Chlo.”

Chloe replied with a choked sob, tanned forehead resting gently on Beca’s own. Beca doesn’t know when she started crying, but her throat felt a bit raw and her nose was warm and Chloe’s voice was watery when the redhead asked, “Can I kiss you?”

So Beca had lived a majority of her preteen and teen years wondering if she’d ever find a place she’d call home, and now—well, now she knew what home _really_ meant.

Home was light-footed steps as they bounced their way towards her. Home was sweet harmonies and sure melodies as they blended with Beca’s voice reflexively. Home was getting animal memes in the middle of recording a new song. Home was silly puns and cheesy jokes. Home was crinkled blue eyes and full-belly laughs. Home was soft, crooked smiles and teasing grins. Home was warm tan hands and soft pink lips.

Home was a place.

And a feeling.

And a person.

Home was Chloe Beale.


End file.
